


A New Purpose

by icedcovers



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Family, Introspection, M/M, male robin - Freeform, so much of this is him talking to basilio but there's tender rob'qus for the later half of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedcovers/pseuds/icedcovers
Summary: In which Robin and Lon'qu move to Regna Ferox, and Robin's choice of occupation is not what most would have expected from such a famous tactician.





	A New Purpose

Legendary generals worked themselves until they died. To command the flow of war, to be forged from it, to know it far better than one’s own self--that was a skill. Robin spoke war like a second tongue, had inscribed it into his very being. And, it was why he chose to become a house husband.

It was why he had chosen to move to Regna Ferox with his husband and daughter. There was no more war. Not that there would ever fail to be war again, yet at present, matters were peaceful with the death of Grima. Relatively. Regna Ferox still operated the arena at which his husband fought. There were some things in life, Robin thought while doing dishes, that were inalienable to the soul. Lon’qu was such a warrior and it wasn’t an especially fatal sport. His husband liked doing it, and so, Robin didn’t complain.

Or, he tried not to complain as he had formed the habit to tending to Lon’qu each evening, balancing Morgan and a household. It was what Robin had wanted, being a house husband. Even as he reflected on it, each action was domestic from the drying of his hands and the organizing of dishes. Old tactician’s habit, maybe, yet each dish and bowl was placed in a perfect system of organization, categorized in so elaborate a way that it was only with Robin’s careful gaze that it could be executed.

Life in Regna Ferox was as peaceful as a battle-loving place could be. Which was to say, Robin felt at home. Regardless of his decision to give up his tactician’s coat, he found pleasure in a place that valued battle so heavily. Combat and war made sense to Robin. In a world where he had retained none of his memories, it had been in only war’s embrace he had found purpose. Perhaps Lon’qu felt similarly. There was an irony to finding stability in strife, yet despite their outward appearances, Robin and Lon’qu were not so different.

It was a waste, Robin had heard once from a citizen, that they should have a tactician of such renown in their borders and he should do little in the way of combat. Of course, there was something routine about such complaints, and Robin knew they came from a place of admiration. But he was determined to not return to war, to simply live domestically with his daughter.

A knife slammed into a drawer loudly as he thought that, brows furrowing. There was a heaviness that occupied the soul in having so many lives depending on him, and to be freed from such a weight, to live where he could control the flow of his own home--well, it was what he wanted above all.

There was one thing he was trying to acclimate to in his new life and that was--

                                                                                                       A knock.

\--visitors.

Call it intuition, common sense, or process of elimination, Robin knew exactly who it was and wondered then if the man never spent any time in his own abode. The door opened, and the West Khan himself stepped into Robin’s home, bearing some hunk of meat from some animal Robin couldn’t identify. A present. It dripped onto the carpet. Lovely.

“Ah,” Robin said, for he could imagine little else to say. “Basilio how lovely to see you and… the small elephant you have hunted me, apparently.”

The West Khan gave a booming laugh, storming further into the home to place the thing onto the dining room table where it continued to bleed. Robin grieved internally, for he had just wiped down that table.

“Not a problem! Where’s Lon’qu?”

Robin went for a fresh towel, seemingly more concerned about Basilio’s present than the man himself, having not the presence of mind to offer him tea. “Out with Morgan. He promised to take her into the marketplace. She’s been begging him to for several days.”

“I see.” Basilio watched Robin wipe the blood from the table, frowning as his mind worked to attempt to deal with the mess. “A tome maybe… wind…” careful consideration beneath his breath. It was at that moment he seemed to remember his social graces. “Tea, of course--would you like that?”

“No, I’m fine. Unless you’ve got stronger stuff.”

“It’s far too early to drink."

“Nonsense!”

“... if it’s what you’d like.”

“ _That’s_ the spirit!”

Robin sighed, mournfully placing the towel upon the table around the meat, hoping it would be enough to mitigate _some_ of the damage whilst he fetched some nicer liquor.

Basilio had seated himself at the dining room table, not seeming to mind the rather gruesome centerpiece. Robin averted his gaze from it, not from weakness of stomach, but more so to retain the convenient ignorance of not knowing how much he would have to clean. Glasses were placed onto the table as Robin poured a hearty amount of wine for Basilio and less than half a glass for himself. The West Khan had visited Robin enough for him to know his preferences. Or, perhaps lack of self control was a far more concise way of putting it. A cold analysis, maybe, yet the people of Regna Ferox were not a people of moderation and the firmer etiquette that was common in Ylisse’s halls. Ironically, Robin was grateful for that too.

“So,” Robin sat, chair scraping against the polished wooden floor as he took a seat across from Basilio, “what brings you here, West Khan.”

“Less formality!” Basilio grinned, “we’re practically family at this point--what with your marriage to Lon’qu.”

“Maybe,” replied Robin distractedly, gaze flitting towards his own wedding ring. “But to visit me, personally? I thought you would have departed knowing Lon’qu isn’t here.”

Basilio wasn’t listening, “your daughter--Morgan--how is she?”

This topic was enough to soften Robin, fingers lovingly tracing the stem of the glass, as if it were his daughter’s delicate wrist. He loved her, truly. “Oh, she’s doing rather well in her studies--a very fast learner. Lon’qu insists on teaching her swordplay and she’s coming along with that too.”

“Say, you think you’re going to make a warrior out of her?”

Robin’s gaze narrowed at the rim of his glass and suddenly, he lifted it, drinking from it in a manner that could best be described as troubled. “Maybe,” he said, “maybe not.”

“You wouldn’t want her to be one?”

“There’s no shame in it,” Robin said carefully, “but it’s not the life I want for her.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“Not a tactician?”

“She--” Robin placed his glass down, a hand running through his own hair, “she wants to be one. She tells me she wants to be what I was but I cannot… she doesn’t understand the weight. She’s just a child.”

“It’s a waste,” Basilio said at last, finishing his glass to pour himself another drink. “Your leaving war. You were damn good at it.”

“Maybe,” Robin ceded, albeit distractedly. “But…”

“But?”

“I stopped wanting it.” Spoken with finality. “Basilio there is a weight to these things--a price--”

“--well surely I know that--”

“--and I imagine you do but I will _not_ make a martyr of my own daughter. To be a tactician to lead… it is so much sacrifice, Basilio. War demands so much sacrifice and so much blood. Perhaps it gave me purpose once, and it brought to me the absolution Naga’s temples never could but I cannot imagine doing that to my own child. To make her suffer what I have suffered, to give to her the weight of an army. ”

Basilio paused thoughtfully, as if considering Robin’s words. Suddenly, his arm cocked back to deliver what would have been a punch, but Robin stopped it, his own arm recoiling back a bit from the force of stopping the blow. Basilio grinned, as if pleased to see that Robin was still a tough son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have let him marry Lon’qu if he wasn’t. “Won’t that break her heart?” Basilio asked at last, “aren’t you bored?”

Robin relinquished Basilio’s fist before standing, tending to the kitchen once more with a sense of duty and pride. “Who’s to say?” Robin fiddled with a cookbook, so much different than a tome yet far more fulfilling. “I may miss it some nights, yes. It was how I started. It was how I met you and Lon’qu, but I want my place to be here. Basilio, I wanted a family, and now I have one. I want to build my life, my purpose around my family.”

Basilio leaned back into his seat as he studied him, “and you’re fine with that? No more war, glory, combat?”

Robin flipped through the pages of the book, deciding dinner and figuring out how to cook what Basilio had brought. “Lon’qu can fight, I won’t take that from him. If anyone in this family is going to acquire any of those things, then let it be him.”

“And Morgan?”

The former tactician’s gaze narrowed at his book, “if her truest wish is to enter that world, then I can’t stop her, only prepare her. But I don’t want it for her. I don’t want to make a warrior or tactician of her, but a scholar. She has the potential for it.”

Basilio looked amused, “a scholar?”

“A scholar.” Robin shut his book, “ _safe_.”

“Safe? Am I hearing you correctly? Didn’t you burn ships?”

Robin laughed at that, pleasantly. He turned, rested back against the kitchen’s counter as he faced Basilio. “I did. That was fun, yes. A lot of it was fun. But war isn’t a game, and I think it’s natural for any parent to want to see their child safe. Your priorities change when you’re married, Basilio--especially when there’s a child in the mix.”

“From tactician to housewife. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Chrom was surprised when I told him my decision too, but it’s what I want, and I think I’ve proven myself to still be in good shape.”

“Could have been a lucky reflex.”

“Well, West Khan, if you would like to spar then set the date and I’ll remind you again why Lon’qu married me and I promise you it’s more than my charming personality and how to read a book.”

A silence befell the room, and they both laughed, the air clearing and the doorknob turning once more for Morgan and Lon’qu to come inside.

. . .

“Are you awake?” Robin patted Lon’qu’s face in the darkness, giggling as he felt him blink a little beneath his palm. Most certainly awake.

The grunt that followed was all Robin needed to know it.

“You need to convince Basilio to visit less.” Robin turned onto his side to face Lon’qu, and his husband followed suit. He could only make out the myrmidon’s outline in the darkness, yet there was a quiet warmth in his heart that bloomed at the sight.

“Was he troublesome?” came Lon’qu’s reply, short yet ever concise.

“A little. I had to mop up the blood from whatever he got us.”

Silence followed before Lon’qu spoke, “and what were you two laughing about?”

“Oh? You heard that?” Robin tapped his chin thoughtfully before answering, “the usual speech about how it’s a waste to not use my skills in combat.”

From the rustling, Robin could tell he was nodding his head in acknowledgment.

“Did I ever tell you,” Robin began, “why I stopped fighting?”

More silence followed, the sort of silence that waited for an answer. Robin’s arms wrapped around Lon’qu, bringing him closer so they were chest to chest, so Robin could settle his chin atop his head and indulge in his warmth. His eyes fluttered shut contently, his fingers tracing shapes into Lon’qu’s back. “I wanted _this_ more than anything.” For a few more moments, Robin didn’t elaborate. “War is full of so many campaigns. I wanted to redirect my purpose, to focus on you and Morgan. I know it’s not a warrior’s way and that the learning of war never stops, but I wanted to learn how to be a father and a husband instead.”

Lon’qu’s arms embraced Robin in return, legs tangling together until they were perfectly intertwined.

Robin continued, “I love you and Morgan more than anything else in this world. I stopped wanting to build my life around war. You know, I still don’t have all of my memories.”

Lon’qu hummed in response. Condolences, maybe.

“No, no, it doesn’t trouble me. But I had nothing and I want to protect and keep what I have.” A hand lifted to comb through Lon’qu’s hair, soft and short between his fingers, yet more familiar than anything else Robin had ever known. “I think there’s nothing better one can have than a family,” Robin said solemnly, eyes flitting open as he peered into the darkness. He had never known his mother, could not even recollect her face, and his father had been so horrible a man that Robin would never weep at his grave. “So, I’d like to care for you and Morgan as best I can. War is no longer my purpose. Grima is slain and there are no major conflicts. As for whether or not I would return… if it is horrible enough… then maybe… but it’s not what I prefer. Besides, I think my cooking’s getting better.”

“Then…” Lon’qu went silent, searching for the words he wished for. Not that Robin minded. He was the orator of their relationship, after all. “Stay as you are. It is your decision.”

Robin laughed into the night, kissing Lon’qu’s forehead.

“Thank you.”


End file.
